The Pale Protocol
Thorne, come here. The voice of the Head of Court, Mr. Halloway, cut through the sterile chill of the ward with the sharp, dry snap of a whip, a sound that seemed to vibrate in the very iron beams of the ceiling. You are standing in the draft, and the boy is shivering. Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old and already feeling the weight of a decade in his knees, straightened his spine, the cold...
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